dly less curious and imaginative were the early
volumes of the Transactions of the Royal Society, in which the
members, knowing little of the limits of natural possibility, were
continually recording wonders or proposing methods whereby wonders
might be wrought.
But, to Georgiana, the most engrossing volume was a large folio from
her husband's own hand, in which he had recorded every experiment
of his scientific career, its original aim, the methods adopted
for its development, and its final success or failure, with the
circumstances to which either event was attributable. The book, in
truth, was both the history and emblem of his ardent, ambitious,
imaginative, yet practical and laborious life. He handled physical
details as if there were nothing beyond them; yet spiritualized
them all, and redeemed himself from materialism by his strong and
eager aspiration toward the infinite. In his grasp the veriest
clod of earth assumed a soul. Georgiana, as she read, reverenced
Aylmer and loved him more profoundly than ever, but with a less
entire dependence on his judgment than heretofore. Much as he had
accomplished, she could not but observe that his most splendid
successes were almost invariably failures, if compared with the
ideal at which he aimed. His brightest diamonds were the merest
pebbles, and felt to be so by himself, in comparison with the
inestimable gems which lay hidden beyond his reach. The volume,
rich with achievements that had won renown for its author, was yet
as melancholy a record as ever mortal hand had penned. It was the
sad confession and continual exemplification of the shortcomings
of the composite man, the spirit burdened with clay and working
in matter, and of the despair that assails the higher nature at
finding itself so miserably thwarted by the earthly part. Perhaps
every man of genius, in whatever sphere, might recognize the image
of his own experience in Aylmer's journal.
So deeply did these reflections affect Georgiana, that she laid her
face upon the open volume and burst into tears. In this situation
she was found by her husband.
"It is dangerous to read in a sorcerer's books," said he with a
smile, though his countenance was uneasy and displeased. "Georgiana,
there are pages in that volume which I can scarcely glance over and
keep my senses. Take heed lest it prove as detrimental to you."
"It has made me worship you more than ever," said she.
"Ah, wait for this one success," re
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